Moriarty's Island
by Servant of Fire
Summary: Jim steals Sherlock and John from home one night, and press gangs them aboard a ship bound for "Gilligan's Island". Only Gilligan and gang were murdered on said island, 50 years or so ago. Now it's up to Sherlock, with John's help, to solve the murders of the 7 castaways, get them justice, and get home. DISCONTINUED
1. Chapter 1 Gilligan's Prelude

**Moriarty's Island~**

**Prelude:**

Sherlock howled in irritation, as away on deck Jim went on singing the song he'd only been singing since they'd set sail, adding a few final words:

(To the tune of the Gilligan's Island theme song)

_Just sit right back, and you'll hear a tale, and you'll feel like you're on an acid trip,_

_It started on a London street, whilst our friends did" kip",_

_The first of the mates was a detective,_

_The soldier brave and sure!_

_I stole them away from their beds, and drug them through their door,_

_For an extended ocean tour!_

_We packed 'em in crates with drugs we were gonna sell! The tiny ship was tossed _(by gunfire, alright?)

_If not for some forsight to put them in bullet-proof vests our flatmates would be lost(flat mates would be lost)_

_I'm dropping them off on the shore of this uncharted desert isle, _

_Where Gilligan!- and all his friends, were murdered, like 50 years ago,_

_Here on Moriarty's island!_

A few seconds later, Sherlock and John were sailing through the air, and hitting the white sand of a beach somewhere in the South Pacific, full-force on their faces. Sherlock sat bolt upright, spitting furiously and picked John up and started to dust him off:

"This music really doesn't agree with the situation. We're being abducted and left to die;not going on holiday!" Sherlock cried.

John sneered at him.

"So, you agree?"

"Sherlock..." John reached and took hopeless fistfulls of the sand, "We are being left to die on a DESERTED ISLAND. And all you can think to say is that the choice of MUSIC is off?! OI!"

And so this is how our story begins.


	2. Chapter 2 This Could Be Paradise

**Chapter 1: This Could Be Paradise~**

Sherlock and John, after John had had a fit of rage for long enough to suit him, set forth to discover where they were.

It was a peaceful island, and seemed it would be a very un-eventful place.

But then they came across the four huts. And a rather large dining room table, constructed of bamboo.

And a cocunut- bamboo bicycle electric generator.

And all manner of things, that seemed to be scientifically impossible,that caused Sherlock's jaw to drop, and John stopped short behind him, bumping his nose against his boney shoulder blades, and then stepping out from behind him, lips forming a perfectly circular shape, in suprise.

"I wonder...who lived here?" he thought aloud.

Sherlock saw a harpoon, with dried blood on it, and a huge pile of colorful feathers, together in a pile of money, and clothes.

He knelt, and began to deduce from all he saw.

"There were exactly 7. 3 women, and 4 men. One of the women had to be around Mrs. Hudson's age. This was probably the wife of the millionaire..."

John's jaw dropped, wondering how on earth he could possibly tell all of this from a pile of clothes and feathers.

"That would mean that two of them would ,of course, had to have been the captain and his mate. The mate was likely very young, late teens/ early 20's. And the last...hmmm, judging by the stains of the pant's pockets, from doing many experiments with chemicals drawn from natural substance, must have been a scientist. Judging by his apparent influence over the others- observe their electric generator,plumbing lines, and cocunut- dial radio for examples- was a professor. Now this fabric is old, preserved only by God knows what, the strange influence of this laws-of-physics-defying- island maybe?- so I'd say the murders, which were not done with this harpoon, but we are to be lead to believe they were- had to have happened around 50 years ago. Why I'd say, we are looking at the remnants of the village of the S.S. Minnow castaways from the 60's. My mother used to go on about how tragic it was..."

John was stairing at him. "You really are that good?"

Sherlock acted as though he hadn't heard him, and kept on with his "deductions". "The clothes aren't torn. Also ,they are all piled here in these feathers, and none of it scattered about. No chairs, and the table itself are not upset, that indicates there was no struggle. So, it is safe for me to assume that the murder did not take place here, or with this harpoon. And the blood is the wrong color for human. That clears that up. Shall we have a look at the huts? Seeing as we will probably be here for a long time, we might as well make use of them, and the former tennants are dead, so..."

He stood up, and went inside one, whilst John, stood blinking stupidly. "He really is that good!" he said, to God perhaps, who is the only other intelligent Being that could be listening.

"This is where the captain and his mate lived ,John!" he was smiling. And he disappeared, again inside. John followed him this time.

"Look, two hammocks already rigged. We might as well move in!" Sherlock cried, happily.

"It could have rot by now!" John protested,but Sherlock climbed in the top one with ease, and swung back and forth.

"Again, it looks like this island, is defying the laws of nature..."Sherlock said. And abruptly stopped swinging, and looked over at John with wide, ocean- color eyes. John looked back, horrified.

"We don't even know if we're on earth..."John said hoarsely. "It could be like that American telly program, where at the end they find out they've all been dead or something the whole time, remember we got Chinese take-out that one night after a case, and I made you watch it with me, so you would wind down and go to sleep, and you "deduced" the whole plot within 10 minutes of one episode?"

Sherlock looked up at the cieling, as if trying to recall it.

"Lost?"

"Yes, that was the name of it. Would've thought you would have deleted it by now, though?"

"I'd assumed it was deleted, maybe your memory dredged it out of my "recycle bin" " he shrugged. "So," he folded his fingertips together, like he always did, when he was about to take the cold plunge into his own mind, "We are dead. Fascinating premise...And we've ended up on this island...to solve a murder..."

"Wait, who said we were dead?"

"You did, just now?" Sherlock cocked a brow, and looked at him confused.

"No, I said 'we don't know if we're on earth'..."

Sherlock grunted, and then smirked, as if this was even more intriguing, "So, we've sailed into hell..."

"Oh boy..." John muttered, and stepped outside.


	3. Chapter 3 Emancipation

**Chapter 3: Emancipation~**

John exited the "Skipper and Mate's" small hut, and, having a bit of a mental breakdown, he ran back to the lagoon. Sat there stairing at the horizon, praying, praying somehow he would see a plane, or the outline of a ship, or the familiar whir of a medvac helicopter, and then he remembered he wasn't in Afghanistan.

He was somewhere afloat in the ocean, where even he didn't know.

He was stranded on a desert isle,in the middle of only God knew where, with a 50 year cold-case murder to occupy them, and with Sherlock Holmes it would take, at the most, a week to solve.

And then the madness, the sheer bloody madness of living with SHERLOCK HOLMES on a deserted island, where boredom would take over like a cancer in a manner of days...

John begged the sea to send him anything, heck, even a bloody SWAT team of angry mermaids, to get them off this island.

Suddenly he heard a stirring in the trees about him, and turned to see Sherlock, pealing out of his shirt. Siezing a vine, and swinging through mid air, leaping head-over-heels in a graceful swan dive into the lagoon. He splashed upwards again, beaming, and swimming in circles on his back, like a playful little otter.

John staired, dumbfounded. "What ARE you doing?"

"Enjoying my newly found freedom..."

"What?"

"John, think about it. We are on an island ,the where of, only God knows. We have enough cases , and justice therefore to get,to keep the Work going for many years now(and no I'm not referring only to the murders of the Minnow catsaways, but actually I found the Diary of Ginger Grant, an actress from back in the day, and it sounds as though this island used to be a VERY eventful, for criminal activity anyway, place). We have this eventful island of criminal activity and justice-getting WITHOUT the bloody press! WIthout the meddling of the news reporters, and without the confusion and distraction of the police and curious bystanders...IT'S ABSOLUTE EMANCIPATION! And of course, we have the mystery of trying to solve how to get ourselves off, when the time is right to, but until then consider this a glorious holiday from the dullness that is society..."

And then , singing to the tune of a Bob Marley song called "No Woman, No Cry" Sherlock began to tease John, who wasn't in the mood for it, but started to feel the tortoise -shell despair melting off him, as he did:

_"So Jonny don't cry,So Jonny don't cry,_

_Said I remember when we used to sit, Solving murders for Scotland Yard,in ol'London town,_

_Observing, and deducing the hypocrites,_

_And try to mingle with the people that we met, ugh_

_Good fortunes we have, good fortunes we have now,_

_better long the way, yea,_

_This will be a bright future, with no press,_

_So dry your tears I say!_

_No Jonny, dont cry, No Jonny,dont cry!_

_Hey now John, don't shed no tears,_

_No Jonny don't cry,_

_Said said said I remember when we used to solve,_

_Cases for the government,in London town_

_And then Gavin or what ever his name is-"_

"Greg" John cut in ,thoroughly amused now.

"That's the one ,thank you!" Sherlock added pointing, bright -eyed.

"When have you listened to Bob Marley enough to change the words to his song?" John interrupted. Sherlock paid him no mind though and went on,

_Old Gavin used to light up his cigarette lights,_

_I say I was on fire with those cases on those nights,_

_And you would find brains in the fridge then,_

_I would have shared them with you, had you not been disgusted,_

_And you'd take to your heels, to go get some air,_

_And while you were gone...(_meheheheh)

Then he started swiming around in circles, clapping like an otter:

"_Everything's gonna be alright," _ he repeated over and over somewhat like in the original song, but then he sang:

"_So John don't cry, John little brother, don't shed no tears!"_

John gasped, exapserated, "Oi, I'm older!" he laughed, peeling out of his shirt now, and jumping in too.

When John joined Sherlock in the water, he back-stroked close to him, a brow cocked,

"Besides, with Mycroft keeping tabs on my every movement, I probably have some kind of tracking device in me. Even if it passes through my digestion process, or it dissloves in my blood, he'll still probably find us and drag us home by the ears like it were our fault within the next couple a days, so we have a lot of case work to do, eh?"

John laughed, and started a splash war with him, shouting playfully :

"It might not be our fault, but it's STILL more fun to blame you for it!"


	4. Chapter 4 Defining Hangover

**Chapter 4: Defining "Hangover"**

So Sherlock and John settled in to life on "Moriarty's Island" and began to work on solving the case for the Murder of the Minnow Cast Aways.

Sherlock was calling it a "Study in Robinson Crusoe" or some such as that. And John. Well, John was missing all the lovely ladies he could flirt with back in old , rainy London.

So John, began to flirt with the ever- elusive ghost of the beautiful Ginger Grant( no , he wasn't actually seeing ghosts, but Sherlock had deduced so much about her aloud, that John had a photographic, and maybe slightly air-brushed, mental image of her). And when Ginger was too busy answering Sherlock's questions in the "mind palace", well, then there was always beautiful , sweet Mary Anne, that Sherlock had deduced, and even "spoken" to aloud, and they got on quite well, as she reminded him of an American( ok, and let's keep it real,flat out dead) version of Molly Hooper.

He picked them flowers. And gave them flattering compliments about the many outfits they'd left lying about the island.

And then after a long day of imaginary dates with beautiful mentally- animate dead women, John, finding that he had spent his day in a completely normal fashion, went home to Also -221 B New Baker Street, Moriarty's Island. The old "Gilligan and Skipper" residence, was now being shared, with the imaginarily re-incarnate past-life occupants, and Sherlock and John.

Sherlock,of course, in typical "Sherlockian"( as John had taken to calling it) fashion, had added some homey touches. By this, I mean, that there were limbs of a washed- ashore squid sitting in a bucket of cool, wet mud for expirimentation. And in place of a skull, there was a cocunut wearing Gilligan's hat sitting on an old shelf. To John's great joy ,however,Sherlock now did chemistry and expiriments in the Professor's old hut, which was now being referred to as "Also New Scotland Yard".But, Sherlock had still found a way to throw a packet of old island savage poison darts into the bamboo walls, so that there was a connect -the-dots smiley face in the same locale of the Gilligan-and-Skipper residence wall, as it would have been on "Actually 221 B, Baker Street, London, England"'s wall.

The only additions John had made, was using Gilligan's old lobster trap, and some fishing poles for antena, as a make-believe telly. And he had drug up an old burlap sack from the S.S. Minnow, and filled it with the weirdly-colored feathers,to make up for their actual-setee at actual-Baker Street.

After a long date with Mary Anne, walking the beach on the other side of the island, collecting sea-shells, John plopped down in front of their make-believe telly, pointed a make-believe- cocunut- shell remote control at it, and went to his "mind palace" ,as Sherlock had been teaching him to do, and pretended he was watching actual-telly. He didn't like the imaginary commercials, so he pretend-like changed the channels. He put it on a show that really annoyed Sherlock, one called "Are You Smarter Than a Fifth Grader?". But, to John's deep regret, Sherlock could not be annoyed. This episode, was after all, only in his mind.

"Evening, Sherlock, Gilligan."

Sherlock sat at the old table, and across from him, in his mind, sat Gilligan. "John." answered Sherlock.

"Hey, John." said the mind-palace Gilligan, and waved awkwardly, like the real boy would have done.

John could actually see it in his own mind. Sherlock was teaching him fairly well.

"So, are we getting any closer to solving our little problem yet, boys?" John asked, snickering as he saw Sherlock on the show in his mind, and losing to a very know-it-all kid version of Phillip Anderson from the Yard.

"Well, Sherlock's got his Monkey Network looking in to it now. Or they were supposed to be." Gilligan pointed to the roof.

John looked up, "Wait, what?"

There was a group of small capuchin monkeys, sitting in a circle-of-trust in the rafters of their was very much like a Iroquois peace-council ring. Complete with peace-pipe. Or a cigarette they had nicked from Sherlock, and were passing, one to the other in the true fashion of braves of America a long time ago.

"SHERLOCK!"

"I don't know how they're smoking them. They were in the pocket of my blazer when we were on board the ship, and they got all soaked in the uh...voyage."

The leader of the Monkey Network, aka Also-Chief-Superintendant, dropped an empty pack of Pall Mall's down on John's face. He grabbed his nose in irritation.

"Don't be mad ,John, the monkeys smoked them all, so Sherlock never got any." Gilligan smiled, sheepishly.

"Sherlock!" John cried, ignoring mind-palace Gilligan, " I thought we had agreed you had quit!"

Sherlock folded his arms, "Well, it's not like I can anyway, the monkeys are smoking them all, the whole bloody crate I found on Moriarty's sorry- excuse- for- a boat. The only thing's left is the cheap ones."

A pack of Marlboros fell on John's nose. "Which looks like Gertrude just finished off!" Gilligan cried in dismay, as a prissy little monkey put a hand on her hip, and took a long pull off the cigarette, with a flourish like a 20's actress.

"And there was a pack of Virginia Slims, but I heard somewhere those were girly , and I didn't like the way they smelled. And Flora agreed to sweep the caves for evidence if I let her have those, so , see John , I have been forced to quit." Sherlock smiled, innocently, showing all his teeth.

"See, John that was easy. Now we can go back to figuring out how I got killed!" Gilligan laughed.

John folded his arms, and glared at Sherlock. Who threw his hands up in despair, "THEY EVEN NICKED MY BLOODY CIGAR! It was the good German kind, John, and Detective -Inspector-Also Lestrade smoked it all!" he jabbed an accusing finger at a monkey that he and Gilligan had dressed up in a tiny tux, to give him a sort of official- look.

"What a dirty thing to do, taking a man's cigar right out of his hand!" Gilligan gasped,"Almost as dirty as killing a guy for the only reason is he's stuck on a beach and can't get off. Can we start solving the how-we-got-killed thing again?"

John waved him off, "Yes, yes, but after we make sure the head investigator is clean...Sherlock,the boat that took us here was smuggling drugs...What else did you take?"

A monkey fell down on the table, eyes rolling like a Super 8 Ball in his head, and a needle sticking out of his arm.

John's lips formed a small "Oh!" shape, and he made the face John makes before John lashes out on you.

Gilligan headed for the oarnge fabric door, quick and quiet, trying to keep the mind-double of his trademark hat from falling off in his haste.

Sherlock was shaking his head, and waving his hands, "No, really, I only took the cigarettes!"(Which, really, he had. The monkeys played a trick to get him in trouble ,that's what monkeys do, isn't it?)

John was smiling bitterly, and chewing his lip at the same time."JJ-jjj-ohn?" Sherlock was slowing backing away.

John reached, and like a bull fighter, he swept Gilligan's old fishing net off the floor with a flourish, spun Sherlock in a quick cocoon, and hung him, in a swaddling- baby-legs-tangled- and -thumb -forcibly- pressed- to- his- lips, position. He poked an accusing finger into Sherlock's ribs, through the wrappings.

"Rock -a- bye Sherlock, in the rafters..." he began, and then leaned dangerously close. "Whilst you contemplate the true meaning of "hangover", I will send Ruby the Gorilla on an island drugs bust, and then go play poker with Mr. Howell, Skipper, and the Professor, or atleast the mind-palace hologramics of them, and we will blow every last cent of 's money, and put it back in the chest when we are done. And maybe Gilligan and your Monkey Network will gain some ground, whilst you dry out!"

He ruffled Sherlock's raven curls then, and swaggered out of the flat, taking mind -palace Mary Anne and Ginger's arms, one laced through each of his elbows, whilst mind palace Mrs. Howell gave a loud, "Oh,my, Sherlock must be working very hard if he's resorted to such strange methods!"

"WHEN I GET DOWN FROM HERE ,JOHN!" Sherlock tried to shout around his thumb, and tried to think of some kind of revenge, and couldn't find one, same as John would find no drugs because he was CLEAN. So ,instead, he just impatiently swung himself back and forth. humming the "Rock-a-bye-Sherly" song, and running through many scenarios based on the evidence Gilligan and the Monkey Network had already provided. This was ,atleast, a good position to think in.


	5. Chapter 5 Only In Your Mind

**Chapter 5 : Only In Your Mind~**

John had fallen asleep on the table after the "Gamble -Mr. Howell's-Money-Away-And-Put-It-Back-in-the-Box-to-Gamble-Again" party.

Had entirely forgotten about putting Sherlock in the cocoon last night.

Came outside this morning , to find Sherlock standing on the dining table, hands in his hair, spinning, and snapping at mind palace versions of all of the Castaways.

"So was he big,little,short,tall,fat,thin,old,young? Details, I need data. Come, you silly people! You have brains!, USE THEM!"

He stomped the table,simultaneously slapping his hands together, for emphasis.

"*Ehem*..."John said from behind them all,coughing into his fist.

Sherlock at the table looked up, expectantly.

"There's only one problem with demanding new data from them ,Sherlock?"

"The fact that they are all silly-minded, and lack the brain skills to succesfully dredge up the needed information from 50 years or so prior?"

John smiled..."No, the problem is, as impressively intricate as they all appear,they are only illusions YOU fabricated in YOUR mind palace, and so, the information that you need from them you will not get from them because they are only in your mind, and your mind lacks the information."

A sudden shock pulsated through the air, as if a billion tiny ,invisible jelly fish had stung the island ,vindictively so. And if adding emphasis on Sherlock's utter shock, the mind palace residents all disappeared, like pillars of smoke.

Sherlock's eyes were wide. And he stumbled, limbs going at all angles like he could fall in a dramatic swoon over the thought, as frightening to him as "the Excorcist" had been to its audience. He had very accurately deceived himself...

"Alright, alright, hey!" John ran to him, as his hand flew up to his brow in a dramatic pose like an Italian painting from the Romantic period. His eyes rolled in his head, and fluttered, and his shoulders hitched..

"So all of this...down to the monkeys, and the palms, and the sand, and sun, and paradise life is in my head,in my head, in my head!" he chanted...

"No case, no land ahoy, no water, no sand, none of it there, none of it ...real? Which leads me to deduce that perhaps my whole life, is a lie, is a lie, is a lie..."

"SHERLOCK!NOW I DIDN'T SAY THAT!"

John suddenly was on the table, and had taken Sherlock in his arms, just as he was about to fall. And then, to John's horror, Sherlock was clinging to him...and they were..ballroom dancing...

"What...no, uhmm...Why? are we? like this?"

"Not real, no case, no hope,no land ahoy, no boat, sinking,...we are lost...Might as well dance..."

Sherlock squinted up at the sun..."NOWHERE..." he shouted, and scared monkeys and birds alike. And then laid his head on John's shoulder in despair.

A bird flew by and hovered with a beautiful island rose of bloody crimson in her feet. Sherlock took it in his teeth, and nodded in gratitude, unaware that birds aren't supposed to just randomly give you flowers.

With the rose still in his teeth,he laid his head again on John's shoulder, being taller, having to bow down to do so, and the rose was tickling John's ear and nose and making him want to sneeze.

All that day listening to Sherlock chant thus:

"I'm a failure,not real,not real,Monkeys using intravenously, WAS MY IMAGINATION!"

John continued to dance with him, enduring the rose's torment until it wilted away from his nose, and chanted thus himself, as they danced on the table till the sun was going down,

"Off this bloody island...Off, need to, need to get off...And mental note...FYI, John,never suggest that Sherlock's mind palace courtiers are not really there...Never again...never..."


	6. Chapter 6 The Clue in the Radio Dial

** Chapter 6: The Clue in the Radio Dial~**

** ~ Back by popular demand ;) ~**

** 8 Months Later...**

John had finally begun to settle into life on this lonely, somewhat psychedelic island in the South since the day that Sherlock realized the mind palace castaways were only in his _mind, _he began to go completely mental, and obsessively began scoping out the island for any signs ,clues, even the faintest whiff of a trace of evidence he could use to solve the murder of Gilligan and company.

But all he succeeded in doing was dredging up other mysteries of this bazaar little island out in the lonely Southern Seas.

John began to make a "blog" for their island adventures. But since he had no internet here, he could only type it up on Mrs. Howell's old type writer, and recite it verbally before the imaginary village, that Sherlock had turned into one ginormous lab for his experiments and sleuthing.

"Hello, Castaways!" John called, ascending the platform.

"HELLO,JOHN!" the Mind Palace replicas of the murdered crew cried.

"Ah, SHUT UP, EVERYBODY SHUT UP ,I AM TRYING TO THINK!" Sherlock wailed, smashing one of his coconut beakers against the table.

John took a good look at him, and sighed. The island was getting to him ,_really_. His hair had grown almost to his shoulders, and so he had placed the Skipper's old hat on top of it in an attempt to hold it down, and the once fancy shirt and business casual pants he used to wear had been sun bleached and ripped at the elbows and knees. He didn't wear shoes, just so much sand had caked to his feet that it looked like he was wearing brown sandals. There were no mirrors or cameras here anymore, so John had no idea what he looked like, and preferred not to know.

"Oh, come on, Sherlock! The story is about you...again. Thought you always loved a good chance to show off!"

"NOT WHILE I'M WORKING!"

"Sherlock...the whole point is showing off your work though, yeah?"

"YES, BUT NOT _WHILE _I'M WORKING!"

"I think Sherlock's finally gone bananas!" the "Skipper" declared.

John pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to be patient, with his high functioning sociopath_slowly_going_psychopath friend.

"Alright, fine. But you really should take a break and listen. Lifts everybody's spirits, keeps us going...till we can finally go home."

"FOR GOD'S SAKES!"Sherlock howled, and leaped on the table, haggard like an animal.

"Don't you see?! DON'T YOU SEE IT ,JOHN?! No, of course you don't SEE it, you are about as observant as one of Molly's cadavers! WE ARE NEVER, DO YOU HEAR ME? **NEVER **GETTING OFF THIS GOD FORSAKEN ROCK! WE ARE ** NEVER GOING HOME!"**

It got suddenly very eerily quiet, and the trees howled in a ominous wind.

"Skipper?" Gilligan whispered.

"What's that, little buddy?" the Skipper replied, equally quiet.

"Where's that scary music coming from?"

John looked down at the sand, one brow curled. Sherlock's eyes followed his.

"WAIT!" he gasped.

Suddenly, he was shaking violently, like the predator right before it sweeps down on its prey.

"The radio! Oh, this, THIS! Don't you all see it, it's marvellous! For now, not only do we have a radio, but we also have evidence, evidence!"

Sherlock leaped down,and began to dig like a wild dog for a bag full of bones, and ripped the old radio out of the sand, right as it was blaring the theme from the "_ Phantom of the Opera"._

He ripped one of the knobs off, and held it above his head, high above his head and shrieked,

" _The Precious!"_

" What the?!" John cried.

It was not the radio knob that Sherlock was so ecstatic about, but was what he had found inside it.

" _The Precious!_ It's the name of the vessel that came to visit here; those island cruisers that promised to rescue our Castaways,and asked for the hand of Ginger Grant in marriage."

He cast away the knob, and held up a golden ring instead.

"But it was really only money that they hoped to marry, and inherit the treasure of Gilligan's Island. THE PRECIOUS! IT WILL BE MINE, YES, YES, THE PRECIOUS WILL BE MINE!"

Sherlock let out a croaking, somewhat frog like chirp, and began to dance about like a maniac, swirling with this ring, still high above his head.

"Oh, yes, that's the ring that Maurice gave me, when he asked me to marry him." Ginger said, twirling one of her silk scarfs.

"Oh, right. Well...apparently it's a clue in solving your murder...And...GOD!, he's about to disappear with it! I better go catch him before he tries to leap off the cliff on the other side of the island again!" John howled.

"Wait, don't forget the Sherlock Catcher!" Skipper cried, "Professor, can I have that please?"

The Professor held out a man-sized bug net that had the words "SHERLOCK CATCHER" written in black paint along the bamboo handle.

"Skipper, you're a life saver! Ta!" John cried, taking the Sherlock catcher in his out stretched hand, as he took a great bound after his slightly more psychopath now friend.

"Oi! Please, Sherlock, for the love of God,_ last time you ran through those trees we go caught in a giant bug nest!" John pleaded, taking off after Sherlock, arms flailing like he was trying to fly.

" Those two are basically inseparable!" Mary Anne laughed, with a huge smile.

"Oh, I know, it makes being murdered quite a bit more interesting!" Mrs. Howell laughed, waving her hand at the air.

"Great Scott, did that blabbering maniac detective just imply someone murdered me for my money?" Mr. Howell gasped, eyes gone wide in horror.

They were well on their way to solving the murder of the 7 Castaways, here on Gilligan's Island.


	7. Chapter 7 A Visit From The Sky

** Chapter 7: A Visit From the Sky~**

John thought his heart would give out from running so fast. Not really so much after Sherlock, as it was that the "Sherlock Catcher" managed to accidentally catch Gilligan's pet lion, Leo, who was old and hungry now. His teeth may be about to fall out, but he still probably could swallow a rather smallish fellow like John whole, and he was rather resentful of being scooped up in a man sized bug net.

John managed to escape the claws of Leo, and land head over heels upside down in a palm that spread her branches over the cliff on the far edge of the island, where Sherlock was already dangling, arms flapping at the air, coat tails fallen down like the wings of a napping vampire.

"You remember when I told you once, that, once you remove the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be true?" Sherlock asked, conversationally, swinging in a sudden gale and conking heads with John.

John shook his head, seeing stars.

"Ahh?...Uhuh?" he asked. Tried to remember in medical school when he'd studied how long it takes for the blood to run to someone's head from hanging upside downways.

"I have sufficient data to form a theory of their actually being life in other Universes...Now, normally,that wouldn't involve me, and it still isn't necessary to store any solar system data in my vault, but! , I may have actually seen a starship...just now...And...so yeah...There's life on Mars."

John shook his head, and looked at Sherlock accusingly.

"I thought you were running off into the wild blue glorious yonder to solve a murder, not to debate life on other planets!"

"I was. But...then...uhhmmm...that."

Sherlock pointed above himself.

John craned his neck to see.

There above them was a strange military aircraft that Sherlock had mistaken for a starship.

In the cockpit sat Mycroft Holmes, glaring at them.

"No...no ,Sherlock! Oh, GOD! You didn't see a starship, you saw Mycroft in a UFO! WE'RE SAVED!"

Sherlock tried to turn himself topways. "I never actually thought...that I'd be...happy to see him?"

But just then, shaking his head in disgust, Mycroft steered the aircraft away, blasting off into the night, in a cloud of jet fuel and indignation.

John sagged wearily, and with his sagging rained down a thousand coconuts, that all proceeded to hit Sherlock in the chin, one after the other, making his teeth chatter audibly.

"He was there! He was REALLY there! I swear to God!" John wailed.

Sherlock started swinging back and forth, terribly bored.

"What are you doing, you crazy git?" John growled.

"BORED! " Sherlock shouted, shaking the tree, and it began to rain coconuts and monkeys galore.

"Your brother just flew up in a UFO, made eye contact with us, decidedly abandoned us to our tropical island fate, and all you can say is that you're BORED?!"

" BORED!" Sherlock shouted in return, "Yes, BORED! FOR GOD'S SAKES, I JUST DON'T WANT TO BE BORED, ANYMORE!"

"We could have been rescued! HE LEFT US! YOU'RE SORRY SACK OF PASTERY FAT BROTHER, LEFT US TO DIE HERE!"

"WELL THAT ISN'T MY FAULT!"

"WELL, IT IS YOUR FAULT YOU GOT US STUCK IN THIS BLOODY TREE!" John shouted.

And the fists started flying.

And somewhere in the middle of their ridiculous scrapping, the tree cracked in half.

And they rolled for miles, screaming at a girly high pitch.

And when they crashed, John thought that maybe they were dead.

When out of darkness, and sand dust, and seaweed, and random starfish up the back of John's shirt, he heard Sherlock's voice:

"THE PRECIOUS!"

"What is it now?" John howled, sitting bolt upright, and stumbling over Sherlock who sat up underneath him, his chin clicking against the top of Sherlock's head, flattening out the Skipper's old hat that had managed to stay fixed on his head somehow.

"_The Precious ,_ John! We've landed directly on her decks! Consider the murder of our Castaways solved!" Sherlock leaped to his feet, giddy as a school boy.

John rolled his eyes, spat out a fish, and followed him.


End file.
